Twenty Seconds
by Bebedora
Summary: Jim Kirk always manages to find himself on the receiving end of injury, and McCoy is expected to put him back together every time, which as his best friend and CMO, he dutifully does. It doesn't mean he has to like it, though.


Twenty Seconds

_"Twenty seconds for transporter lock, Doctor. There's a lot of interference from the ionosphere."_

Leonard McCoy nervously wrung his hands around the hypospray filled with painkillers.

The message had come from the planet's surface four minutes prior. Hostile life-forms. Multiple injuries.

A potentially critical Captain.

"_Seventeen seconds."_

McCoy had assembled his best team and grabbed every available Med Kit within arms' reach. Doctor Geoffrey M'Benga followed hot on his heels, guiding one of several hover-stretchers down the sleek halls of the _Enterprise._ Crewmembers jumped out of the way, knowing their determined CMO meant business.

All sorts of terrible thoughts had flooded his mind as he ran, multiple scenarios—some ending with Jim's death on the surgical table, others with him hanging on, only to succumb to infection or hemorrhaging days later. He had known Jim Kirk long enough to expect the worst. Through all their years at the Academy, he had patched up his fair share of split lips, broken bones and minor internal injuries. Hung over and maudlin half the time, Jim would thank him with an overly affectionate hug before collapsing onto a bed—usually McCoy's—in an analgesic-induced stupor.

"_Eleven."_

Once they got on the ship and Jim had been given his Captaincy, it didn't get better. Kirk was always jumping into dangerous situations, a confident smirk on his face and hop to his step. McCoy knew he didn't think before he leapt, and that the young Captain was just following his instincts—even when it seemed he was purposely welcoming danger. And, inevitably, when he would come back with a spear wound in his flank, compound fractures or feeling the effects of some alien poison administered by vengeful warmongers or untrusting natives, Kirk would rely on McCoy—Bones—to piece him back together.

"_Eight."_

Today would be no different.

It never was.

McCoy looked over his shoulder to make sure the team was ready with the proper supplies. Scanners out and hyposprays loaded, they waited—just like him—for the crew to come back.

"_Four."_

But, he figured, no one was quite as terrified as he was. Jim always did this to him, whether he realized it or not.

"_Three."_

His stomach lurched anxiously as he mentally prepared himself for the chaos that the team would undoubtedly bring back with them.

"_Two."_

McCoy took a deep cleansing breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Jim would be alright—he would make sure of it.

"_One."_

His eyes snapped open and he checked the dose on the hypo in his hand one last time.

"_Energizing."_

The golden filaments of the transporter beam began to swirl around the pads, and within milliseconds the crewmembers materialized.

They were all standing on their own, although one was obviously struggling with an upright stance. As the away team appeared completely, the stooped officer's gold tunic came into bright view and McCoy had only a few short seconds to rush to Kirk's side before he collapsed to the floor.

"Hey, Bones…" A wry smile was flashed, exposing bloody teeth_. _Blue eyes, losing their brilliant sparkle with each passing moment, fluttered shut as Kirk's head lolled to the side.

McCoy wasted no time in scooping him up and laying him gently on the gurney. A quick assessment with a Tricorder concluded that Jim would survive another day, keeping his place as the thorn in McCoy's side.

And the Doctor wouldn't have it any other way.

He disengaged the locks on the gurney, his usual mutterings saved only for Kirk heard as they rushed down the hall towards Medical.

"Dammit, Jim…"

XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX

_A/N: This piece was entered into the VitaMN Summer Fanficition Contest. While I didn't win the Grand Prize, this story was selected as one of 20 finalists out of 168 entries. So, that's something! The length (or lack thereof) of the piece was one of the stipulations of the contest. It could only be 300-600 words. This one is 600 exactly…and I had to do a lot of trimming,lol. I really enjoyed the challenge of having to convey heavy emotions in such a small word count, and I hope you all like it too. -B_


End file.
